


Counting The Signs and Cursing The Miles In Between

by notthebigspoon



Series: Mystery in the Making [1]
Category: Baseball RPF, White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 20:58:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/385878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cool. Tim digs the whole beautiful stranger thing. But when the beautiful stranger turns out to be a convicted felon on the run from the FBI, it really kind of throws a monkey wrench into his whirlwind fantasy romance. Cue long suffering catchers and lovesick wildlife.</p><p>Title taken from Breathe by Greenwheel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting The Signs and Cursing The Miles In Between

Tim meets Nick Halden in a night club and doesn't share his last name. It earns him a knowing smile, somewhat mocking, but Tim doesn't mind it when Nick laughs at him. It's not cruel, nothing judgmental, but more that Nick seems to find a sort of delight in not knowing everything and having something there that he'll have to work to discovering. The way that delight makes his blue eyes sparkle makes Tim take Nick home with him. They don't fall asleep until the sun is coming up, pale rays shining over tangled, sweaty bodies. In the morning, the bed is empty but Tim finds Nick drinking coffee on the back porch. Tim takes the mug that he's offered and leans into Nick, humming softly as Cy chases a moth, snorting and snapping in pure joy.

Spring training is almost over and Nick has been in his life for scarcely more than a month and Tim's already having to remind himself that the game is more important, is what he lives for.

Even if he does like having rambling, fantastical conversations about them running away to the Caribbean or Italy or France. (France is Tim's idea, Crawford was watching Ratatouille earlier and Tim watched over his shoulder.) There was also a brief moment where he entertained the idea of Jamaica but A, it's not gay friendly and B, it's just too damn hot.

The night before the season opens, he's sitting next to Nick and toying with a ball as they listen to the city sounds.

“My name is Neal.”

Tim doesn't answer. Just clenches the ball tight in his hand and squeezes his eyes shut. This is where the ball drops. He wonders for a brief moment how much money 'Neal' is going to ask for, what magazine covers this is going to end up on, what sponsors he is going to lose. Neal turns Tim's face, makes him look him in the eye.

“I'm a con man. A thief. Or I was. Now I'm just a man on the run.”

Just like that, Tim is hearing an entire story that he doesn't want to know and can scarcely believe. He won't look at Neal, just fumbles for his phone and googles the name. And it's true, it's all so very painfully true. He reads about treasure hunts and the FBI and exploding planes. Nick Halden was just an alias and the best month of his life has been a lie.

The next night he loses. He deletes Nick's... no, Neal's number, from his phone and drinks until he passes out. Even in hungover misery, somehow the next day, he can't throw out the drawings that Neal had made for him. They're all too carefully stowed in his suitcase. He takes a deep breath, forces himself to eat breakfast and goes to work out. Ignores the looks his no doubt shitty appearance draw. He doesn't hear from Neal.

There is no feeling sorry for himself. He practices and he works out and bullshits with the guys and reminds himself again that the game is what was important. It deserves nothing less than his full attention and losing was the price he paid for giving that attention to Neal. 

“So, your friend.” Buster isn't looking at Tim when he's talking, he's cracking his gum and lacing his shoes. Most of the guys have already packed up and left, it's just them and Pablo. Well, and Yadi Molina on the phone with Pablo but Molina and the Panda are all committed which makes the conversation safe to pursue.

Still, Tim just grunts and shakes his head.

“Skip the part where you pretend I don't know you're gay and get to the part where you tell me why he's just disappeared after you pretty much live together for a month.”

“You make it sound so reasonable and easy to explain.”

“Pitchers are overdramatic psychos. One of us has to be reasonable.”

The pitiful part is that Tim really can't argue with that logic. He sneaks another glance Pablo, who just rolls his eyes and makes a weird wiggly gesture with his fingers that Tim assumes to mean he should just spit it out already. He idly wonders if this was a conspiracy between the two of them, Buster because Tim didn't really have his shit together and Sandoval because he wants everyone in the world to be as disgustingly happy as he and Yadier are.

Tim sighs and drops onto the floor, looking up at Buster on the bench. “He's gone. The night before the game, he told me some things... he's not who I thought he was.”

“So it's over.”

“We haven't talked. I deleted him from my phone. Hell, he probably left the country after he left the condo.”

“No biggie. I did it to Yadi once.” Pablo butts in, smiling bright as he stares at the background picture on his phone, an admittedly adorable one of Molina and Yoleadny snuggled up and watching Tangled. 

Buster again mutters about drama queens. He nudges Tim with his foot. “What happened?”

There's no point in weighing options. He could lie, yes, but there's no point. Buster has a freaky sixth sense for the truth and really, it'll be nice to get it off his chest. The truth is what is blurted out, accompanied by occasional flashes of bookmarked evidence on his phone. Tim's criminal in all of his glory. The wanted flyer is his personal favorite.

Pablo is disgustingly jubilant. “I knew you liked bad boys!”

Buster, who had gotten up and started pacing halfway through the story, is steadily banging his forehead against the wall. He's muttering about idiots and psychos and pining over convicted criminals. On the run convicted criminals at that. But Buster always knows what Tim needs and what Tim needs right now is for someone not to judge him, so with a reddened forehead and a deep sigh, he picks up his bags and pulls Tim to his feet. He bumps their shoulders together as they leave the clubhouse.

“You really like the guy?”

“I had one crazy, wild month with a guy who just fit into my life. I woke up in the morning and he was still there and it felt like he should be. Up until the second he told me his real name, it felt like a movie. All these perfect moments and stupid but surmountable arguments. Then he opened his mouth and I lost the game and I went home and he was gone and now it's over.”

“It's only been a few days. Guy's probably pining and, from what you told me, is insane enough to chase you down again.” Buster pauses, glancing at Tim and clearly considering his next words very carefully. “And at least it'll be easy to find out if he's been arrested again.”

Tim can't help the quiet laugh and the tension finally breaks as they trade venomless barbs, occasionally punching each other in the shoulders. They've almost made it out of the visitors clubhouse, with plans of a search for burgers, when a sharp yell sounds behind them, announcing a galloping panda.

“PENDEJOS! You can't just leave me here! The panda needs to be fed too!”


End file.
